White people are between a rock and a hard place. The Shylockian liberals want their blood, and the colored barbarians are quite willing to shed white blood. White people’s only refuge, their racial hearth fire, is forbidden them, so they languish in a death-in-life limbo while they wait for the final death blow. Every white nation has a proud history of fighting men who were once part of the fabric of their nation. What has happened to the race that produced such men as Alfred, Tell, Wallace, Forrest, Bozzaris, Roland, and Winkelreid? I recently read of 10,000 Somalians who have overrun Scotland. How can this happen to the country of Wallace, Bruce, and Sir Walter Scott? How can any white European permit his nation to be defiled by the presence of colored barbarians? It has to do with our spiritual backbone, which is our race. If white people don’t believe they are a race apart from the colored races, a race of people who must protect and love their own, then they will not fight to preserve their race. How can a man fight for something he doesn’t believe exists?
As white people have disappeared as a race so has the quality of mercy disappeared. Cruelty and sexual depravity are all that is left in the formerly white nations, because there are no white people left who will fight negrophile liberalism. The grazers will “support our troops,” who are not our troops, and they will support their local clergy and the local schools, but they will not fight for race and faith. “Our troops” are the troops of negrophile liberalism, our schools are liberal, negrophile factories, and our clergymen are blasphemers who have made the living God an adjunct of negro-worshipping liberalism. Instead of voting for our executioners we should take the same vow that Tell took when Gessler threatened the lives of his sons, his wife, and his people.
My boys, poor innocents, my loyal wife,
Must be protected, tyrant, from thy rage!
When last I drew my bow – with trembling hand–
And thou, with fiendishly remorseless glee
Forced me to level at my own boys head,
When I, imploring pity, writhed before thee,
Then in the anguish of my soul,
A fearful oath, which met God’s ear alone,
That when my bow next wing’d an arrow’s flight
Its aim should be thy heart.
The vow I made,
Amid the hellish torments of that moment,
I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it.
Just a story? Europeans come from the land of storybooks. The heroes of our race point us to The Hero.
When the liberals and the clergy command us to progress beyond provincial, bardic, racist Europe to a universal, scientific world consecrated to the Negro, we should respond as Tell did that day at the mountain pass near Kussnacht. Our innocents are threatened. We have tried pleading, but to no avail. There is no mercy in the liberals or in the colored barbarians. How could there be mercy in the souls of those who have rejected the God of mercy or in the souls of those who have never known the God of mercy? The words “fiendishly remorseless glee” resonate with us today. Doesn’t that describe the liberals? The fiendish glee with which they respond to the colored atrocities against whites make me feel as Tell felt. There can be only one response to such creatures from hell: “Amid the hellish torments of that moment, I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it.”
The white man’s refusal to fight for his people – let us use the Somalian invasion of Scotland as the mirror image of what is occurring in every white nation – is the result of the white man’s flight from his soul. His white skin contains his soul, and as long as he retains his soul he is subject to all the terrors of the spiritual life that a blood-and-sex pagan is not subject to. “Do I simply go from a corruptible body to an incorruptible body, or do I enter a state of suspended animation somewhere between death and life? Or worse yet, do I melt into nothingness?” The fear of that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns has sent the white man into an intellectual retreat from which he supports the colored heathens, because their religions give him the opiates of sex and blood. But even here, the white man feels cheated; he can only participate in the heathen religions second-hand; lurking somewhere in the darkness is his white soul, trying to envelope him in that old world of crosses and redemption.
A religion that is not embodied soon becomes a dead religion. This is why the liberals must continue to attack every last vestige of Christian Europe. That Europe must remain in the grave so the new Europe, the Europe of the anesthetized zombie whites, can live. A Christian European is, in the eyes of the secular liberal and the clergyman, a fiend who will impede mankind’s progress toward a colored utopia where all mankind can forget the Man of Sorrows. Whites won’t fight back against the colored invasion, because they don’t know the answer to Melville’s question, “Sentry, are you there?” The answer can be found in the collective face of the European people, before they separated themselves from their souls. There is no magic formula, no intellectual gambit that can make the white man fight for his people and his God. He must see existence feelingly before he will fight. Beyond the rational man, beyond the philosophical man, is the man of storybooks, the true European. He is the hero that by a miracle of grace has not succumbed to modern Babylon; he is a man with a soul. Let us follow such men to fairy tale Europe where we will discover that His Kingdom come and eternal Europe are one and the same.
Cambria Will Not Yield, Cambria Will Not Yield 7 Comments
[11/23/2014 4:37:04 AM]
Fundie Index: 4